


Drunken Kisses

by ilcuoreardendo



Series: Another Space and Time (Star Wars fics) [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Crushes, Fluff, Love, M/M, Padawan Obi-Wan, Requited Unrequited Love, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: He's 17 and drunk on Corellian Ice Brandy when he kisses his master for the first time.





	Drunken Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about ten kisses Obi-Wan might have experienced in a lifetime. And here's one now. 
> 
> Originally written and posted at my [Tumblr](http://ilcuoreardendo-fic.tumblr.com).

* * *

He's 17 and drunk on Corellian Ice Brandy when he kisses his master for the first time.  

His friends had thought it would be a good idea to do a late birthday celebration while they were all planet-side, invading his room, decking him out in civilian clothes and dragging him to the clubs, where he let himself be lost in the music and the lights and the throng of bodies. And then one body in particular. A young man – older than him, still – tall, lithe, with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, a crooked nose and a warm smile.

Obi-Wan had seen the man across the room and might have sent a tendril of the Force outward, seeking, brushing against him to get him to look up as Obi-Wan came near, smiled and put the shimmer, sheerness and cut of his civilian clothes to his advantage.

The guy dances up behind him, big hands sliding over Obi-Wan’s hips, fingers tickling up his sides, his rib cage, coming up to slide over his shoulders, his neck, grasping his braid and turning Obi-Wan around with it, tilting his face up.

The light glitters across the man’s face, makes his eyes shine green, gold, then blue. Then the man’s mouth is on his. Obi-Wan’s not sure who moved first. Teeth nibble at his lips, then a tongue darts over his mouth and pulls back, replaced by a plush bottom lip and the taste of brandy.

He lets the man buy more drinks and feed them to him, makes faces at his friends laughing at him from a corner booth. He lets himself be pulled back to the dance floor in between drinks, for a slow song, a fast song, then a mid-tempo beat and more slow, warm kisses.

He doesn’t let the man take home, despite the ache growing between his legs, the warmth curling in his belly.

Obi-Wan’s friends take him back to the Temple, leave him at the door to his quarters, Garen with a wink, Bant with a smile.

Qui-Gon is in the common room when Obi-Wan comes in, sitting in his chair, cup of tea at his side, reading something on his data pad. Though muted and hazy through the alcohol, he can feel Qui-Gon’s mind coiled, considering and Obi-Wan thinks it’s a mystery novel he’s reading. Qui-Gon’s hair is pulled back in a tight plait, the warm light of the room making it shine. Obi-Wan can smell the oil Qui-Gon uses to groom his beard, heady with the faintest hint of citrus and he follows it to the chair.

“Did you have fun, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asks without looking up

“Yes. Only…” Obi-Wan trails off, considering.

“Only?” Qui-Gon looks up then, data pad coming to rest on his lap.

“Only, there was something missing,” Obi-Wan says, voice a whisper.

Then he kisses Qui-Gon. Or tries to. He misses Qui-Gon's mouth by a hair's breadth, placing an open mouthed kiss against the curve of his master’s lower lip, the coarse hair there scratching against his tongue. But he corrects easily enough and – _yes_ – his master tastes like black tea and spiced honey

And Obi-Wan thinks he’s being kissed back. Then he’s _sure_ he’s being kissed back as feels the flicker of Qui-Gon’s surprise fade to a rush of warm arousal. Qui-Gon cups the back of his head, fingers tangling in the short hair, holding him steady and it’s so different from the kisses earlier this evening. Qui-Gon’s mouth moves with purpose over his, tongue sliding between Obi-Wan’s lips, curling against his palate, stroking the rough rag of his own tongue and then pulling away. The warm arousal tempered by responsibility.

Qui-Gon pushes Obi-Wan back, keeps his hands on Obi-Wan’s forearms.

_This is not the time, my Obi-Wan._

Then they’re in Obi-Wan’s room and Obi-Wan’s not quite sure how they got there, but Qui-Gon’s helping him into his sleep tunic, tucking him into bed like he hasn’t since Obi-Wan was 14 and sick with some new strain of Dantooine flu. The last thing he remembers before he slips into sleep are lips brushing his forehead, the warmth of affection flooding through the bond he shares with his master.


End file.
